


The Lion's Daughter

by crowskullz



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Coming Out, Coming of Age, Flashbacks, Self-Acceptance, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 11:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20339155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowskullz/pseuds/crowskullz
Summary: The prince lived to avenge his family, born anew from flames of tragedy, rising out of the ashes. With tears streaking his face, he takes up his dagger, hardly looking at himself in the mirror as he grabs a fistful of soft blonde hair and runs the blade through.





	The Lion's Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> hello! something quick i whipped up. sorry for any inconsistencies or faults, was not beta'd orz. there's not enough trans dimitri out there!

"Apologies," he murmurs, flustered after taking another wrong waltz step, nearly stepping straight on his poor teacher's foot. He was seven years old, and already being trained for future balls and formal affairs. "It's fine," the teacher reassures him with a patient smile, still gently grasping his hands hands in his own, "again. This time, try not to watch your feet so much." 

He nods, determined to get his footwork right this time, but frankly, he had never really worn heels before, and the backs of his brand new shoes dug into the back of his heel. But he would get through it. At least the heels made his dress seem shorter-- it was also new, and too long. It hadn't been hemmed yet, probably on account of it being intended to wear with heels, and for formalities only. His hair was pulled back out of his face, back in a bun, a neat braid forming a crown atop his head. 

Another misstep. Try again. 

He wasn't one for dancing; he preferred more intense activities. His brute strength did not allow him to sew; one of the women sat him down to try needlework, and his father had apologized profusely as he saved him from the situation after having bent several needles. For a man, the strength would have been a wonderful thing, but at the time, it was seen as a burden for him. No man would marry a woman who was stronger than him in every way. _A brute_, was what they called him, sometimes, astounded by the intense strength that came from what appeared to be a sweet little girl, the princess of Faerghus, and the king's pride and joy. 

"Your Highness, something appears to be on your mind," the teacher says suddenly, "we will make no progress if you do not focus. Please, take a break, princess." He nods, bowing his head as he curtsies, instantly heading for his quarters. Instantly, he sits on his bed, and off come the heels. A moment later, he comes to stand in front of his mirror, simply staring at his own reflection in the glass. As usual, something seemed.. out of place, but he could hardly put his finger on it. The person he saw in the mirror, dressed in a gown of royal blue, was the princess of Faerghus, with her dainty fingers that would someday learn to sew as if her life depended on it, her perfect posture, and her soft and delicate face that many noblewomen would envy. 

He furrows his brows, smoothing his dress as he stares into the mirror. What was the problem? He knew, in his heart, that that was not what he was meant to be. He wanted to pick up a sword. He wanted to be a valiant knight on the back of a horse's back, sword raised to the sky as his men cheered him on before they rode into a battle that would be an incredible victory. He can't help but smile at the thought; yes, perhaps that was it.

\--

The princess of Faerghus turned nine years old on the 20th day of the last Ethereal Moon. He had been allowed to attend horseback riding lessons, and his father helped him handle a lance, specially made just for him to perfectly match his stature (and to be hard to break, but that's not what anyone told him). For his birthday, his father gave him a brand new set of clothes. A pair of trousers that fell just below his knees, a button-down jacket, gloves, boots, and a cape for around his shoulders with soft fur trim. And from then on, that was all he wore. No one seemed to mind so much, even if it was unusual. His attendants continuously tried to prompt him to wear an old dress or a skirt, but they didn't push when he said no. He was a child; dresses were not a necessity. Besides, if the king had those clothes tailored for him, it wasn't as if he objected to his own child wearing pants and a tunic every day. He felt a little more congruent when he looked in the mirror, now, though his hair was still on the long side, even recently cut. Maybe the training and riding really did help.

\-- 

Now, he was thirteen years old. Just a year ago, he lost his father and stepmother in the Tragedy of Duscur, and monsters stalked him while he slept, stealing away any pleasant dream he may have once had. A nightmare waited for him every night; he heard the flames roaring in the streets of Fhirdiad, and watched them scorch away the life he had once known. He watched his own father die before him, reach out to him as he uttered his final words, the ones that would shape his life forever.

_Avenge us! Those who killed us.. tear them apart! Destroy them all!_

He woke up in a cold sweat, jolting upright. His eyes were wide, breathing heavy as he clenched his trembling fingers around his soft fur blanket, gazing frantically around his bedroom as if looking for the fire from that dreadful night. But it was silent, save for distant birdsong. 

He gets up out of bed in his nightclothes, his heart still pounding in his chest as he crosses his bedroom, moonlight washing in through the glass door to the balcony being his guide. He steadies himself against his dresser, head down as he attempts to calm his breathing, trying desperately to soothe his own mind. It would only be temporary, and he knew that well. He was haunted by nightmares at night and plagued by ghosts during the day. Not only so, but he felt increasingly worse when he caught his own eye in the mirror. When he was younger, he thought maybe he simply just enjoyed typical men's activities, and that he didn't like feminine ones. But that was not it, even if it felt like it almost solved the problem at one time.

The problem was that he was a man, and no one saw it. No one but him. He was to be a knight on the back of a horse, he was to lead an army of men, and he was going to hear the cries of victory. And he was going to be king someday. The princess was the one who was here in the palace and lived a peaceful, quiet life with her father. The prince lived to avenge his family, born anew from flames of tragedy, rising out of the ashes. With tears streaking his face, he takes up his dagger, hardly looking at himself in the mirror as he grabs a fistful of soft blonde hair and runs the blade through.

Relief. He felt palpable relief even though his fear, though his sobs, through his pain. 

And so, Dimitri Alexandre was born, heir of house Blaiddyd.

\--

At seventeen, he leaves Faerghus to attend the Officer's Academy at Garreg Mach. It was an opportunity for a new beginning; they didn't know the princess of Faerghus, not personally. But they could get to know Dimitri. He did, however, know several of his classmates; among them were several of his childhood friends, who he hadn't seen much of since before the tragedy. 

As he stands at the entrance hall, anxiety begins to creep up on him. What if his old friends rejected him as he was now? Well, really, he was always Dimitri. He just hadn't known it yet. And he saw Felix two years ago when they had their very first battle. And he had said nothing positive, but nothing negative, either. He reassured himself that Felix wouldn't care-- anymore, he hardly wanted anything to do with Dimitri in the first place. So maybe he would simply continue to say nothing. But that was unlike Felix too, wasn't it? He always said whatever was on his mind. What if he refused to accept it? And what if Sylvain and Ingrid backed him up?

When a few monks pass him by on the steps is when he realizes he's been standing there lost in his thoughts for quite a number of minutes. Flustered by his own tendency to doubt himself, his cheeks stain light pink as he takes up his lance, shaking his head. He had to do this. He continues up the steps, entering the hall at last. Throngs of students stand chattering amongst themselves. As he approaches, he catches the eye of a young man with a cape of gold across his shoulder. 

_He must be a house leader._He talks to everyone, it looks like, a smile always on his face. He was rather.. animated, too, constantly speaking with both his hands and his mouth. He would be a good person to get acquainted with.

Across the room, he catches a glimpse of a red cape out of the corner of his eye, and she turns around while talking to one of her housemates, brushing long white hair behind her shoulder.

_Edelgard,_ he realizes with a shock. He hadn't seen much of her since she had left back to Enbarr those many years ago. Would she even recognize her old friend-- no, her own stepbrother? 

That would be a later issue.

He comes to the last group-- his. He immediately recognizes his old friends, and Sylvain instantly flashes him his winning smile, throwing his arm up to wave. So he did recognize him..? "Hey, Dimitri! What's up? It's been so long!" 

His jaw drops. Just a little. And he already knew his new name. Maybe news had spread, or maybe someone filled him in. Well, he had no need to worry about Sylvain, then. He manages a half-smile, bowing to the group. "Hello, Sylvain. Felix," he offers a nod, and Felix only offers eye contact, "Ingrid." She smiles, just hardly. Maybe she didn't understand. Dedue comes to his side, too, as Dimitri introduces himself to his other house members.

"I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, prince of Faerghus. Pleased to make your acquaintance."


End file.
